


Insecurity

by TearoomSaloon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Oral Sex, this is grossly sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6925159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/TearoomSaloon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was nothing but muscle, rigid angles without curves. There was no way he found her desirable, with her small hips and smaller breasts. But then again, he seemed baffled as to why she thought the things he considered flaws made him beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insecurity

There were some things that could always make her tick. They started down at her feet, when she stubbed her toes on cold metal through the worn material of her boots. Her heels were so callused now that walking across sharp and uneven surfaces bothered her little, skin on the balls of her feet tough like an elephant's. She'd heard stories of them at the post, beasts big as banthas with huge tusks and thick hides. She liked to picture herself as one when she was small, a giant rumbling creature of strong muscles. It made her feel better, made her feel less conscious of her angles.

Her legs were next, strong as durasteel. The skin stretched taut over sloping muscles, her quads jutting out in curved loops to just above her knees, which were like shields of bone above well-used calves. Her shins stuck out, always getting bumped and bruised when she worked.

When her body began to change around the age of fourteen, she took notice of how wrong it looked compared to the girls painted on the noses of the starfighters littering the graveyards. They had big full hips that wrapped down smoothly into their thighs. Their chests were full, heavy over thin waists. Her own hips were narrow, far smaller around than her shoulders. The bones flared out, but went straight back in, a space left between hip and thigh, like someone had taken a spoon and scooped out the flesh that should have connected the two. Her waist didn't exist. Her hips so narrow and her ribs so broad, the two made a square of her core, the stringy muscles of her abdomen packed tightly in. Breasts, oh, those were nothing she had, no part of her free to spare a scrap of energy for such a feminine luxury.

Her no-chest carried into serratus anteriors running prominently along her ribs, cords of muscle blending into branches of bone. She knew her back must have looked like a broad expanse of ridges and angles, not a drop of softness under her skin. It felt damning, as if her troubles were not already in such a long list. There was too little on her to keep her warm in dark cold desert nights. Her muscles wrapped around bones tightly, but there wasn't enough to keep in her heat. She shivered, unable to stay comfortable. Her lack of sleep—the burning of her excess energy—only kept her further from looking like anything but a lithe coil of strength.

It first had only gnawed, her strange body and its wrong build, but the gnaw turned into bites, ripping her confidence from her skin when _he_ became important. He didn't exist, and then he did, evil and vicious and cruel. He was raw anger and sheer power and she hated him until she didn't. Hated him until months after his most unforgivable action.

They had been bound by his carelessness, stitching their minds together like an uncomfortable and untidy patchwork quilt. Colors and patterns merged at the wrong angles and incorrect seams. His constant bile and venom had made her sick on more than one occasion, precious energy spilling out of her body, stopping her dead, making her shake. And she hated him.

Hated him until she didn't.

He interrupted her training, descending like a black storm in the middle of her meditation. He drew his blade and they clashed like bared lightning, yellow-green on scarlet red. She didn't want to do this—to kill him, or hurt him again—she'd spent too long in his headspace to recognize their similarities, to know how much they would have gotten along had he made different choices. He knew as well and worked only at disarming her, his hits heavy and directed at her blade.

Reluctance crumbled walls and they stopped, caught on an uneven landscape a distance away from where they'd begun. His pain tasted like iron on her tongue. He was so lonely. _She_ was so lonely. It would have to end eventually, the pining for company, and he fled, disappearing back into the night from which he came.

She never forgot that interaction, never forgot the stuttering, frantic anxiety behind his eyes. He wouldn't change himself, couldn't see a path out of his despair. She couldn't see a way in, or a way down, not wishing to fall from grace beside him. They were at an impasse and it was futile to reach out again.

In a deep forest, however, she did try again. She stalked him down, followed him deep into the ruins of an old temple, a dead culture's language painted on the walls. His eyes—yellow now, yellow like cadmium—bore animosity before he recognized her and his expression softened. He wouldn't go quietly for anyone else, but he let her take his hand; let her lead him down into the hallowed earth.

It had been four months since she'd last seen him, but over those four months they'd exchanged too much. He had wormed his way into her bloodstream and her heartbeat syncopated with his. She took pity on him, on what he'd done to himself. She refused to excuse or forgive him, but she pitied and it grit like sand across his teeth. He, in turn, cared for her in his twisted strange way. There was good inside him somewhere, even if it only showed through their bond. He was not good, but he could act kind and benevolent if he so wished.

She took him down, down under the ground, deep into the darkness where the lights from their blades were the first to penetrate the black void in centuries. They stopped in a circular chamber, its ceiling high and its walls flaking with old and forgotten paint. A weak light flickered from the copula where the roof had once sat above the ground. Here, away from the eyes of the sun, she felt less disobedient in her want to touch him. Blades replaced on their hips, she took his hands and he rested his forehead against hers. They were guilty creatures and the pain of hiding was overwhelming. Without a word, she cupped his cheek, heat rising from her stomach when he leaned into her touch. He nodded once and she left, retreated up to the surface and disappeared from the planet.

An old castle by a sea was where he found her. She sat atop a window ledge and stared out at the wide crashing ocean, eyes glued to the movements of the water. She heard him on the steps, had seen his ship land not far from the entrance. He stood behind her, silent until she spoke.

"Powerful, isn't it?"

He nodded and she heard it more than saw it, the swish of his hair brushing the material of his cloak. "Fortuitous, ever churning."

Eight months had gone by now since the first encounter. Now, she knew him like she knew herself, understood his mind and emotions better than her own. She rose to stand beside him, wanting to brush against his body. After knowing so little comfort all her life, she wanted to try. He let her, nudging closer, pushing into her lightly with his shoulder.

"Some days I want to be like still water, smooth and delicate. But I am a storm at sea, harsh and rigid."

"You're a little of both, I think."

She looked up to him, up into his star-cut eyes, and took his hand in hers. He smiled, but it was a melancholic gesture, somewhat forlorn against the red stripe of scar that cut his face. When she reached to touch it, he bent his head to her, lips hovering for a breath before meeting hers.

Soft. He was _soft_.

And she was rugged and coarse.

His free hand brushed by her waist—her lack of waist, her rectangular core, her mocking body without a single feminine curve—and she split from him like a tree branch splintering in high winds and heavy rain. His eyes snapped wide, hurt, and she couldn't breathe. He didn't stop her when she fled.

She didn't cry that night, but she dwelled. She brooded in her bunk, the gravity of reality threatening to blow down her walls. She was imagining his actions; she had to be. There was no way someone _soft_ wanted to touch someone as _rough_ as her, as angular, as _wrong_. Her body was _wrong_. She wasn't smooth or well-formed or…desirable. She was made of hard edges. Her breasts were so small she had to bend to see anything more than a slight bump of flesh—and even then they weren't much. Her hips were just bones, just muscle. Her backside wasn't flat, but there wasn't anything but sinew under the skin, the shape squared with divots, not curves.

No one could want to hold this body, she realized. _He_ wouldn't want to touch her if he knew how her skin felt. He would put his hands on her bony hips and would pull them back as if she were carved from fire, her skin burning him. He'd sneer, teeth drawn, and never look at her with anything but disgust.

Aching, she shut him out of her head. He wouldn't want to touch her again; that was okay. It would be okay.

He knew where she was, though, and he found her less than two weeks after she'd run. Graceless, he fumbled his way into her room from the window, climbing up the way she had snaked down on each hunt to find him.

She fought the urge to bolt when he startled her out of meditating. He approached and she drew back until she hit the wall, trapped. He seemed more hurt than anything, a deep, scorched kind of hurt, one that drained all his anger down. He didn't reach for her, only searched her with stinging eyes.

"Did I misunderstand you?" His voice was low, sorrowful, tempered like steel. "Did you not…do you not want me?"

"How could _you_ want _me?_ " she asked, drawing her arms against her chest. "My body is all wrong."

His nose scrunched, brows pulling together. "How is it _wrong?_ "

"I'm not soft. I don't have hips. I don't look like the—the—" her throat was so hot, so constricted, " _beautiful_ girls, ones people fantasize about, the ones all over the Holonet, girls I see men fawn over. I'm scrawny, bony. I don't count."

"Are you choosing my preferences for me?" He cocked his head, folded his arms. "Do you want to tell me how I'm supposed to see you, or can I decide that for myself?"

"Am I wrong? Do you not favor girls with feminine shapes?"

"I favor _you_." He tapped his head. "Up _here_ , that's the part of you I like best."

"No one likes bones."

"I like bones. I don't think I could stand without them."

She smirked a second and fought it down. "But you know how I mean. I wouldn't be…soft. Or pleasant to touch."

"There are bigger complications to how we feel than your physical build. And despite your preconceived notions, I do want to hold you."

She lifted a hand to him and he took a mile, pulling her to him, wrapping her close. He was so _big_ , she was so small, and she fit against his wide chest like a Velcro strip. She sighed out slowly and thought that maybe, _maybe_ , he was telling her the full truth.

 

He was wonderful in every way she could list—maybe not every with the amount of blood on his hands, but he treated her like a lover should. And he was beautiful, beyond beautiful, to her.

His toes were a little odd, but she had come to the decision that everyone else had weird toes and hers were normal. His feet weren't as callused and the tops were soft, his skin smooth everywhere but his myriad scars. He had hair on his legs unlike her and it prickled her bare skin, but she liked it. His legs were strong, but they were different from hers. He had soft spots on the insides of his thighs, places where the baby fat had never come off. They continued up onto his hips and around to his ass, muscle met with small deposits of adipose, rounded but strong.

His body was built like a heavy tank, although his hips were smaller than his ribs and he had a trim but broad waist. She liked to run her hands over the dip, to feel the curve of his hips under her fingertips. His lower belly was softer than the rest of him with maybe a quarter inch layer of fat lying atop his hard, coiled core. He grew agitated when she kissed him there, but bit his tongue, didn't say a word. She was awed that he had softness to him, that he could feel silken under her touch.

Sometimes she got caught up in it, snared in the thought while she rested her head on his stomach—the thought that someone this beautiful could want something as brokenly shaped as her. She traced absent-minded designs on his belly, followed the plush area around his navel up as it bled into the hardened muscles of his abdomen. She kissed it eagerly, bit and nipped at his sliver of tummy, of vulnerability, a mark of his humanity. Somehow he detested this more and would drag her up to lie on his chest. There, she could wander her fingers over the cut notches in his arms, remark every gorgeous line until she drifted off to sleep.

It was a crisp reality, however, when she first undressed before him. It took a trained effort she did not fully have to keep the anxiety from her face. Sitting atop his hips, she let him peel her shirt from her body and watched with palpable horror as a hint of disappointment crossed his nose. Her arms flew to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can leave. You can find a better girl to replace me, someone who developed properly, it's okay—I'll leave."

His hands anchored to her legs. "I'm just…surprised."

"They're nothing, I told you, you _knew—_ "

He picked her arms away and sat up under her, dipping his head to kiss her breast. "They're bigger than you made them out to seem."

A small smile wriggled its way onto her face and she wiped at an escaped tear. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better."

"I'm not." His hands moved up her body and he kneaded her tiny, tiny breasts, stroking and massaging her skin. It was heavenly, to feel him touch her. "I like them the way they are."

He laid her gently down on the stolen sheets in the small cottage they'd found planets away from their commitments, laid her gently in their hallowed meeting space. His half-bare body covered hers as he tended to her chest. He kissed her softly; sucked at her nipples with his red mouth, tongue hot on her skin. Whichever breast wasn't under his lips was teased by a hand, fingers kneading and pinching and soothing. It felt like an eternity passed before he lifted to her mouth and kissed her with equal fever, kissed her slowly until they fell asleep.

He paid careful attention to her breasts after that night, cupped them over her clothes, worshiped them when they were bared to him. His hands were so loving when they lay upon her skin, gentle, caressing her in a way her angles didn't deserve. She didn't deserve this from anyone, especially not him. Her body was nothing so grand to be looked at with the gleam in his eye.

A month had to pass before she even considered allowing this marble-cut Adonis to strip her bare. She waited, tears heavy in her eyes, as he kneeled before her. His fingers loosened her pants with no hurry, pulling them slowly down her legs. His hands ran down her calves and he encouraged her to step out of her clothes before looking up, before taking her in.

His eyes were wide, mouth open. Fingers climbed up her outer thighs and—

She moved them away from her hips. "Not there."

He frowned. "Yes there."

"No."

" _Yes_." He snatched his hands back and took her by the hips, pressing his face to her middle. "Here. Everywhere. All over you." He kissed across to her right hipbone, nipping the thin skin. "All of your beautiful body."

"I'm not—"

"To me, you are. All of you. Here," he ran his hands over her ass, "here," they followed up her trunk, " _here_ ," squeezed her breasts, "and here." He stood, cupped her face, and kissed her temple. "Don't argue with me, you're going to lose."

"How can you be such a _monster_ ," she asked into his chest, "and still care about my feelings?"

"Monsters can love, can care. I do." His yellow eyes followed the line of her jaw, hunger evident in his expression. "I think you need to let me have a taste of the wine, don't you?"

"I don't understand."

He nudged her to sit on the bed and spread her wiry legs. She suddenly felt impossibly exposed, muscles fighting to close against his grip. Kneeling, he raised an eyebrow to her but didn't stop this new action. She figured she could tell him to stop, but it wouldn't do any good.

"Re _lax_ ," he purred, pressing his mouth to her inner thigh, sending chills up her spine.

"What are you doing?"

"If you stop fighting, I'll tell you."

She didn't.

He said not a word, pulling her so she was seated on the mattress' edge. His arms snaked around to hold her legs open and she felt more self-conscious than ever. "You can pull my hair if you need to," he said close to her skin, his breath hot.

"Why would I—"

His tongue dragged up the pinkness at the juncture of her hips and she cried out, not expecting him to, to, do something like—

" _What are you doing?_ "

He smirked against her and she felt his lips move on her sensitive skin. "Pleasing you." He nudged something with his nose and she wriggled under his hands. "Trying to show you how _wonderful_ your body is."

He laved bottom to top once more and sucked at a spot that made colors pop behind her eyelids. One of his hands inched higher up on her thigh, taking over with a swirling motion when his lips descended and licked and suckled at newly red parts of her vulva. She laced her fingers into his hair and _dragged_ him closer when he did something incredible with his tongue, one finger stroking inside.

"Do you feel _good_ , Rey?"

Overwhelmed and suddenly empty, she pushed him back down, legs twitching, breath hitching. This was _incredible_. It was _unbelievable_ , that something could feel _like this_.

It built and built and built until her muscles contracted and her toes curled, curled up tight like the moan in her lungs. Her vision disappeared and sound left, nothing existing except his mouth and the pleasurable spasms inside.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand when she shook back to reality, licked wetness from her thighs before rising, picking her up, and lying her head down on the pillows. Kicking out of his pants, he climbed atop her and kissed her from neck to toes, mouth swollen on her skin.

"You are a _queen_ ," he said around a nipple, proceeding to suck until she pushed him away, breast sore and throbbing.

"I am a servant."

"A servant only to the stars, all others serve you." His hands ran over the strange shape of her hips, soothing over and over until she relaxed into his touch.

Closing her eyes, she let her fingers wander on his shoulder, in his hair, on his back. She gave into his touch, wondering for a moment if they could be like this, lie like this, together, until the end of time, his body heavy and warm on hers.

He returned up to her lips when he was satisfied with her state of calm, running his hands over her cheeks and neck. His lips were wonderfully soft— _he_ was wonderful and silken, his hair like the downy fur of juvenile animals.

"Is it obvious yet?"

"Is what obvious?"

He sucked at her neck, nipped at her ear. "How much I…"

"Your eyes are brimmed yellow and yet you touch me like I'm a flower, would feel wounded if I had rejected you but wouldn't have hurt me." She ran her knuckles softly along his jaw. "It's been obvious for a while now."

"Then remember it the next time you look in the mirror. Remember that I do, I…I'm sorry, this is hard to admit aloud." He raised his head from the crook of her neck, needing to see her eyes as he spoke. "I…love every inch of you. Dearly. Even though you're uncomfortable with your body, I want it," he pressed his forehead to hers, "every single inch."

She nodded, swiping at new tears. He kissed where they trailed down her cheeks, kissed her again on the lips, the taste salty and the feel yearning. She didn't deserve his words, didn't deserve his affection, his soft touches. He was gentle only for her, her and her unappealing body, and the thought made her cry harder. It was a combination of emotions all swirling thick like tar in her stomach. Acceptance, self-rejection, elation, discomfort, unworthiness, affection, insecurity, they all plagued her shaking hands.

He kissed down to her breasts, resting his forehead between them for a bated moment. He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear. "This monster loves you, Rey, I love you so much."

* * *

The mirror was never good to him. He was gangly as a youth and he never grew into the size of his ears, opting to cover them with hair. His nose was strange, narrow but large, looking almost twisted the wrong way at the top, as if it had broken and healed improperly.

His eyes, then there were his eyes. Dark as a child, they harbored emotions easier before now. Yellow irises stared back at him these days, vibrant and sickly and sharp. Vicious. The eyes of a monster, appropriate for his growing fangs.

Monsters weren't supposed to love. Monsters weren't supposed to care about their appearances, about their hair, their eyes, and especially not their bodies. Bodies were tools, nothing more.

But his body…it wasn't good enough, wasn't what it should have been.

The breadth of his shoulders and chest was impressive, but the construction of his muscles was imperfect, unfinished. His arms were nice and he knew his back rippled with movement, but his core…He was not cut from marble. He was not perfectly chiseled. The top of his abdominals was strong and looked it, sections of sinew pressed tight to his skin. But down, down the center line, the prominence faded. It was just suggestions at his navel and soft pinchable flesh right below. Not much, but it was there, a sliver of fat lying atop his powerful core.

He was being ridiculous. He didn't have a _belly_ , just a bit of fat. Normal. It was completely normal to have body fat, completely normal to not be pure pulsing muscle. It wasn't even noticeable, but he dwelled on it, the strange unwelcome guest taking residence on his midsection. He had it other places, he knew, but this was most frustrating, the most bothersome. He found himself conscious of it near always, disgusted with himself. So he worked harder, became stronger, only to find it never disappeared even though the muscles underneath grew.

But there was she, a creature of nothing but muscle. She had no excess fat under her skin, just sinew, just bones. Carrying her through the forest, he could feel her strength through the layers over his arms and hands. So _powerful_.

So beautiful.

He took his time flirting with the idea of seeing her again, grateful but distraught with the next meeting's circumstances, blades once again locked for death. But he didn't want that outcome, and nor did she, so they parted.

And he began to fall.

It took so long to coax her, to draw her out of her shell. Months and months of restraint and guilty hands passed before he kissed her, the rush of the action making his mind drunk. He brushed against her and she ran off almost immediately, leaving him confused and hurt.

Did she not mean it? Or did she not want him, though she let him kiss her?

He wanted her so badly it hurt.

Waiting almost no time at all, he sought her out, hunted her down and approached with a peace offering, afraid of the rejection to come. She was so…lonely, he knew. Uncomforted, without affection for most of her life. He was lonely too, but for other reasons, and he was starved for her. She let him in that night and he kissed his fill, swallowing down the tears that spilled from her eyes. Wonderful girl, didn't she know how badly he needed her?

He loved her so thickly in his dark monster's heart. It was like a syrup, slow-pouring and drenching. He spread it on the skin of her arms with his lips, the only place she let him touch that first time. Lovely, lovely Rey, she'd be his soon enough, he'd bury her fears in himself.

 

She was beautiful. Utterly, truly beautiful. He couldn't fathom how she had decided to let him in. She was light, he was dark, and when they came together, there was no grey—they didn't change, didn't alter themselves to impress the other. He showed her his raw self and she returned the gesture.

Her feet were rough, but well traveled, the shape of her life history carved into her heels. Her calves were strong, curved at the top where her muscles were graceful and functional. The bulge of her quads carried through her thighs, muscles rippling under flesh when she walked, curling shapes pressed under taut skin. He loved how they felt under his hands, the sheer power they exuded, the tightness the muscles held.

Her stomach was hard lines and sharp ridges, screaming her ability and harsh life in its build. It was flat like his but held no softness, no weakness. Her hips were narrow but had a graceful shape, lines of muscle leading from her groin to the tops of her pelvis. His palms could just about engulf her bones. The power of her core diminished her waist but it was there, the sharp indent at the end of her ribcage, tapering up to a powerful back. He _loved_ her back, wished she'd more readily lie for him to massage the tissue, to kiss down her spine to her ass. It wasn't bubble round and there wasn't much there, but it was strong and squeezing it made her gasp with a heady amount of arousal. When she was more comfortable, he'd take her from behind so he could admire it better. She'd lean up on her elbows and that gorgeous back would be bared to him fully as she moaned and trembled when he thrust into her, their emotions and needs soothed and blended together. He'd make her feel so good, make her body sing, but only when she was ready.

She was so needlessly uncomfortable with herself. The fourth time they slept beside each other, he cautiously let her pick his loose shirt from his skin, exposing his own insecurity to her. He lay back down, waiting for her upset with his body, the imperfection of his physique.

"Beautiful," she whispered, hands exploring down his chest.

He flushed, heat zooming to his face. He was anything _but_ beautiful.

Her fingers growing closer to _that_ , he was certain she'd retract her touch when she felt his soft belly, the small but treacherous coat of flesh hiding his power. Her eyes grew wide and her hands stopped.

"You're soft here."

"I can't get rid of it, no matter what."

"No, no, don't." She kissed his stomach and he nearly had a heart attack. "It's nice. I'm not soft anywhere."

"But it shouldn't be there."

She shook her head, continued to pepper kisses around his navel. His mind was on fire. She should be upset that he wasn't raw muscle and power, that he wasn't perfect, but she was unbothered. Her teeth nipped the spot and he shot up, pushing her off.

"I'm not comfortable with that."

"I'm sorry." She looked beyond hurt. "It's just…I haven't… _touched_ anyone else like this before. I haven't felt anything but my own sharp body. Yours isn't like mine. It feels…healthy, more than skin and bones. I'm sorry, I won't touch you again."

"Rey…" He'd wanted her for too long, it was unfair his insecurities were getting in the way. He led her back to his hips and, with an incredible effort, guided her hands to rest on his stomach. "I want to be comfortable with you."

She watched his eyes for another beat and nodded, lowering herself to kiss the valleys of his obliques, fingers chasing up his sides and back down, settling at his waist. He didn't like that either—didn't like how her fingers pressed into soft flesh there, a reminder that his hips carried a small amount of fat as well—but bit his tongue, instead pulling her hair free to run his hands through her soft locks.

"You feel wonderful," she said with a hum, laying her head on his stomach, her body between his legs.

"I bet you do, too," he said with a smirk, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

She was _nothing_ but muscle. Her breasts were small—a bit of a disappointment, but they were _hers_ and that made up for any size preference—and her nipples were rosy pink, puckered, and perky. She was self-conscious about them, but he so badly wanted to play with them that he cast aside her silly insecurity to suck and lick and bite. They must have been incredibly sensitive, each careful knead of a breast drawing a moan from her throat.

It was clear she hated their tiny size but he quickly grew enamored, able to take one fully into his mouth, an action that had her legs squeezing around his waist. She shouldn't have been so upset over them and in turn he made every effort to cup and tease them when they were able to steal a moment away.

"It's not fair," she moaned, fingers locked tightly into his hair. "I've gotten to touch your middle _once_ and all you tend to do is remind me that I have tiny breasts."

"This turns you on," he said before licking a stripe up the underside of one breast, watching her squirm. His mouth was still dry from tasting her, pleasing her so sweetly. "Any attention to my stomach turns me _off_."

" _Please_ , Kylo."

He rolled his eyes, giving a nipple a good pinch before rolling off her and onto his back. She swatted at him and caressed her injured breast, sending him a hard glare. She started up at his mouth, giving him a quick peck before burning a line of kisses down his chest. She ran her lips over his navel, nuzzling into the small softness below. It felt…less awful now. Less like he wanted to cut the fat from his body with a hot knife. It was as if she could genuinely appreciate all of his body, not only the unflawed portions.

"I _do_ ," she huffed when she intercepted his thoughts, punctuating annoyance with a sharp bite to his tummy. " _All_ of your body is mine, not just the 'nice parts,' whatever those are."

"That _hurt_."

"Yeah? Tell that to my breasts."

She lavished him until his hands were slow in her hair, his breathing even. It started to feel nice, her giving attention to his insecurities. Her showing affection to pieces of him he found upsetting. She moved from his stomach to his thighs, drawing constellations over his moles with her fingertips. A shiver ran down his back and a small smile bubbled.

"Kylo?"

He opened his eyes and lost his breath. The image of her lying between his legs with that…oh, what a _warm_ smile she wore for him. Only for him. He loved her far more than he should have ever been allowed.

"Yes?"

"Is there something that I can do for you? I mean, when you, you did—"

"I gave you oral."

"Right. That. Can I…return the favor?"

"It wasn't a favor, I wanted to do it for you," he corrected, sitting up. The way she watched him move stirred a fierce want in the pit of his stomach. He took his cock and stroked a few times, being sure he was hard enough—flaccid her first time would be unpleasant. "Don't feel obligated."

"I don't."

"The tip is pretty sensitive. No teeth, at all."

"Do I just…?"

"Use your mouth, your ears, and your best judgment," he said with a smirk before lying back. "You can stop whenever you want."

Her mouth was hot, her tongue equally so. She started too loose and he corrected her, gliding a hand down her cheek. She rotated small bobs with the exploration of her tongue, tasting his skin. He groaned when her thumb massaged where his thigh met his hip and she grew more confident. He almost lost it when she went as deep as she could and hollowed her cheeks, going torturously slow.

"Do you…" His chest was heavy, his legs shaky. "Do you want to try sex tonight?"

"Do I have to decide now?"

"If I come, I'm not going to be hard for a while, so—" his breath hitched, "—yeah, yeah, now, pick now."

"Maybe in the morning we can try." She looked up at him and it took all his willpower not to let his head roll back and forsake his self-control. Her lips were so red and swollen, her face flushed, eyes dreamy. "I want to finish doing this for you."

Oh, she was going to be the death of him.

She bobbed quicker now and he tried to restrain himself from bucking his hips, but he failed miserably, driving himself farther into her mouth. She made a noise of discomfort and pressed some of her weight onto his hip with one hand, the other gripping him firmly, pumping in rhythm with her mouth.

With a groan and an effort, he pushed her away before he came, sticky wet mess spilling onto his stomach. He drifted into the pillows, felt like he was falling into plush nothingness, disappearing from the world. She was all that still existed, the touch of her hands on his thighs burning into his orgasm, burning waves into his blissful brief death of consciousness. He blinked, lacing his fingers into her loose hair. He had so many words to give her, but they were lost in the chamber of his ribs.

With a curious twist of her head, she ducked down to the gooey mess coating his belly, licking a tentative strip above his navel.

" _Rey_."

"You got all sticky."

Her mouth was hot on his cooling skin. It tickled a little and he could only watch, too mesmerized to stop her. She flicked her tongue into his bellybutton and his toes curled, the sensation sparking a string deep in his groin.

"This feels so weird."

"It tastes pretty bad."

He chuckled and apologized, stroking her hair gently, trying his best to trickle appreciation into his gesture.

She rested her head on his chest when she finished, cuddling easily into his side. "You have a pretty stomach. Flat but soft. I like it."

"But I can't say I like your breasts or you get all choked up."

"One day I won't." She rose up to kiss him, her mouth salty and dry. "Until then I'll have to deal with it, like you have to deal with me…with me loving every inch of you too."

"You shouldn't do that. I have a lot of parts that shouldn't be loved."

"So do I, but it doesn't stop you, does it?"

He shook his head, moving to kiss her again. Hard this time, deep, a kiss she should have gotten as her first. A kiss he'd wanted to give for eons, his arms wrapping tightly around her, crushing her against him.

"You've known," she said when they broke, her lips puckered and swollen. "You've known I felt like this."

"And we can't say it out loud, the right words."

She kissed him hard again, pulling him up so she sat in his lap. Her fingernails dragged like hungry teeth up his back. "One day," she said, pressing her forehead to his.

"No more insecurities," he agreed, yanking her back down, kissing her cheeks until she laughed. "One day."

**Author's Note:**

> you just want to know those peanut butter vibes


End file.
